


No Place Like Home

by TheMarkOfEyghon



Series: Once More With Glitter [17]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Fake Relationship, Season 2 AU, The Council was founded by assholes and then never got better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 20:42:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20712233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMarkOfEyghon/pseuds/TheMarkOfEyghon
Summary: Randall stares at him, wordlessly. Wonders if he’s actually hearing the words that he’s saying or if he’s just talking to talk. How the hell could they ever make that less… forget it. He has to stop being astonished by the complete lack of humanity these Watchers have.OrRandall and Deacon move into their new house together and it goes about as well as you expect it to.





	No Place Like Home

“Ah, here we are!” Deacon said, suddenly, shattering the long and tense silence that had fallen between the two of them the moment that he had half-lead and half-dragged Randall from the school library. His bright and cheery voice sounds all the more forced for the tangible unease that sparks between them, but once he started it didn’t seem that he could stop. “The house that the Council has put up for us. It’s nice, isn’t? Really seems like a home.”

“I don’t know,” Randall mutters, his eyes tightly closed even under the sunglasses. He’s too… wound up, to even consider sleeping, but he really wants to. This was more excitement than he’s had in a long time, more exertion and socialization than he’s had to entertain in nearly two d e c a d e s, and all he’d really like is to retreat to some quiet, dark, safe place and sleep.

He’s longing for his cage, he realizes with a start. And that knowledge sends a pang of unease within him, an anger that’s ancient and cold starts to rise up in his chest and make his heart skip a beat. He swallows it back down, scrapes his tongue against his teeth like that will remove the metallic tang of fury. Tries to focus on other things, things besides that bizarre and unpleasant longing.

But, really, there’s nothing nice to think about. If not his cage and the illusion of safety that it held for him, then he has to think of this house and the new illusion. Pretending to be in love with the man that’s got him on a leash and collar. ‘Literally,’ he thinks, as he unconsciously strokes his fingertips against the golden band on his ring finger. And if not that, then he has to think about tonight. And the date.

Their date.

He grits his teeth and shudders. It’s nauseating enough to think that he has to pretend to like Deacon. The tamed tiger that nuzzles up to the trainer for fear of the whip or the bear that doesn’t realize it can leave because it’s spent its whole life being tied up and the absence of rope no longer means anything. But adding Ripp - Rupert, into that equation and his girlfriend? Unfathomable.

He longs for some kind of palatable misery. Misses the routine of torture. It hurt but he could adapt. This doesn’t feel like something he’ll ever get used to.

He forces himself to focus on the house, opening his eyes and peering at it through the shield of the sunglasses.

It’s… large. And houselike. He wonders if he’s supposed to be grateful, but it’s a bit like staring into his own grave and complementing the stone that was picked out for him.

“Well?” Deacon asks, pulling all the way into the driveway. The car, another gift from the council, looks to be a similar make and model as the car in the driveway across the street. Everything about this screams “average”, a perfect show for anyone who’s watching. “What do you think? You have to stay here too, might as well enjoy it.”

“Enjoy it?” Randall repeats, sitting upright and wondering, for a second, if it’d be worth it to wrap his hands around this guy’s throat and squeeze until he stops moving. Survey says probably not and so he shoves his hands into his pockets before he can twitch too much into the idea and get carried away. “...You’re right. Thank you soooo much for this new, stunning prison. I love the update. I hope there’s hardwood floors so that cleaning the blood up is easier.”

“Oh, please.” Deacon rolled his eyes as he turned the car off and pulled the key from the ignition, pocketing it and reaching into the backseat for the tightly sealed and neatly labeled box where his very extensive file on Randall is carefully stored away. “How many times must I tell you that we’re past that stage, now? You’re abilities are finely honed and unless you started to lose your grasp on them, again, I’d think there’s no need to pull out the sharp objects. You’re not here as a punishment, you’re here to do your job. You’re well-trained for it and as long as you do it correctly, there will be no need for negative reinforcement.”

“Thanks, I feel so much better.” Randall said, coolly, already reevaluating his decision not to strangle him, but the opportunity passes as Deacon opens his door and slides out of the car.

He makes an impatient sound, wordlessly directing Randall to do the same, and he sighs as he unbuckles and slides out of the car reluctantly giving up the cool air from the AC and relinquishing himself to the stuffy air outside. God, there’s something else he’s never going to get used to. Why is it so hot here? He pulls at the collar of his shirt, unhappily.

“Welcome to 1632 Revello Drive,” Deacon said, cheerfully and maybe a little too loudly, like he’s anticipating that their new neighbors might be listening in. “Come on, our things should already be inside.”

“Great.”

He doesn’t put nearly as much effort into sounding cheerful or… normal. He’ll tell the lies that they direct him to; he’ll lie about being married, lie about being in love, even lie about being happy, but they can’t make him be a convincing actor. And Deacon must sense that little bit of rebellion or at least be irritated by his total lack of enthusiasm because he shoots him a dirty look before he starts for the front door. Straight backed and purposeful. Whatever he’s getting from this or THINKS that he’s getting from this must be good.

Randall trails behind him, with at least three feet kept between them, and tries to keep his expression bland as he follows him through the door.

It’s… big. Spacious and sparsely decorated. There are dusty footprints on the linoleum of the entryway, probably left behind by whoever moved the couch, coffee table, and bookcase into the foyer. Deacon eyes the marks left behind with distaste, Randall with indifference… and then with a little malice as he presses his shoes down as hard as he can to leave scuff marks, too.

It’s truly the little things in life that make for any kind of happiness.

“Well, isn’t this nice! I’d only been here once, before they brought the furniture in. My study is that way -- that is, of course, off limits to you. The kitchen is over there, I’ll need to make an outing to put food in the house. It’s my understanding that the Council was feeding you bland meals to meet your calorie intake but I’m sure we can readjust you to regular meals. I can’t have you on prison gruel, not if neighbors might be stopping by unexpectedly… oh, there are two bathrooms. One down here and one upstairs. That door, there, leads to the basement. The washer and dryer are located down there… as is your cage… don’t be alarmed.”

Deacon interrupted himself, looking back at Randall who’d stayed standing very still in the doorway.

“That’s not for every day. Just for if you start to… lose control. I’d prefer that you have the capability to suss out, yourself, when you need it. If we can start establishing trust, it’ll make the whole thing easier. If you can tell when you need to be locked away and when it’s safe to be back out, we can make the whole thing less… traumatic.”

Less traumatic?

Randall stares at him, wordlessly. Wonders if he’s actually hearing the words that he’s saying or if he’s just talking to talk. How the hell could they ever make that less… forget it. He has to stop being astonished by the complete lack of humanity these Watchers have.

When he doesn’t answer, out loud, Deacon shrugs and continues on speaking. “There are three bedrooms. The master is upstairs, and another down the hall. The third is down here. I think we ought to convert one of them to an area for you. My files indicate that you enjoyed meditation and your workouts. We can still offer that for you here. Contrary to what you believe, I’m not in this for your misery. I -”

“What are you in this for?” Randall interrupts. He can’t help himself. “What do you get out of this? I mean, if you’re not just into torture.”

Deacon smiles tightly. “And here I thought we’d get to know each other before we started getting so interested in each other’s internal desires… very well. Randall, you think that the Council is an institution of cruelty, yes?”

He doesn’t wait for confirmation. Just shakes his head and tsks his tongue.

“I don’t… begrudge you that notion. I understand that the measures that had to be taken to turn you into something of value were strenuous. But, look at yourself! Look at what you are, now, what the Council helped you to be! And think back to what you were before. You… well, I have it all on file. You were nothing and no one. You had nothing to offer to this world, just another shiftless layabout using magic for your own gain. Leeching off of the underworld that most people will never see and using that strength to get high. And now, you are something. Someone. You can make a difference. And that? That’s all I want from this, for myself. The Council isn’t built on cruelty. It’s built on opportunity. A way to play a part in a war that predates time itself.”

“And that’s really all you want? To make a difference?” Randall asks, disbelievingly, going out of his way to ignore the rest of what he’d just said.

“Yes. That’s really all I want.”

Deacon sets his box down onto the coffee table, taking his time to remove his shoes.

“You haven’t settled into the idea that you are going to be incredibly useful to the cause. But, once you do? I truly believe that you’ll see things the way that I do. And that, maybe one day, cages and shocks won’t be what keeps you fighting this fight.”

Randall bites back the urge to tell him not to hold his breath on that front, “How much of a difference do you really think we’re going to be making here? I mean, if you genuinely are in this for that reason… how are we supposed to do that like this. Just keeping an eye on Rupert and the uh, Slayer?”

That’s the other issue that he hadn’t even had room to start thinking about yet. The Slayer. He hasn’t met her, but he’s already heard how protective Rupert is of her. Of how threatened the Council is of her. Threatened enough to send him, their “monster” onto the scene. There’s so much more to it than Deacon is letting on, maybe more to it than even Ronald knew. She sits at the center of this storm, the cause and the effect, and Randall isn’t sure if he should be wary or protective of her.

“How are we supposed to help them? I don’t have any real field experience and, no offense, but it doesn’t seem like you do either.”

“I was renowned for my studies into demonology, but particularly into the Sleepwalker. I have a deeper understanding of the demon than any other person on earth could claim to, making me the perfect person to come and keep an eye on you!” Deacon said, feathers officially ruffled now that Randall stepped on a sore spot for him. “No one else on earth has the capability or the understanding of the demon to -”

“Have you ever been possessed?” Randall asked, suddenly interrupting him again.

Deacon faltered. “Possessed? I… well, no. I haven’t been.”

“Then you’re the seventh person in line at best, because I know five other people besides me who’ve actually had Eyghon inside of them. And uh, no offense… but no amount of reading prepares you for what it actually feels like to hold his power inside of you. It’s been almost two decades since the last time he was expelled from my body and I’m still not quite used to it inside of me, all the time.”

A muscle in Deacon’s jaw starts thumping and he looks a lot like someone who tried to swallow a lemon whole, only to get it stuck in his throat midway. “I…”

He reaches to adjust his tie.

“...I need to make sure that the movers didn’t damage any of my texts while moving them into my study. Why don’t you take yourself upstairs and… get ready for our date tonight? I’ve taken the liberty of allotting you the master, since I’ll be spending most of my time in my study and need only the bedroom that is closer to it. There should be clothes in your size in the closet. Wear something nice, no need for your dear old friend to think I’m not treating you well, hm?”

Ouch.

Randall’s torn between pain at the reminder and a lingering sense of smugness following a direct and palpable hit to Deacon’s weak spot. He’s still not sure that Deacon’s being completely honest about his intentions and what he’s really hoping to get from this place, from their “job” here in Sunnydale, but now he does know… that the biggest weakness and weak point that Deacon has is his inexperience.

And he also knows that part of him, though Randall’s not sure how big that part of him might be, is j e a l o u s that Randall holds Eyghon’s power inside of him. He really was one to talk about using magic for himself, wasn’t he? And maybe that won’t be a weakness that Randall will be able to exploit often but maybe, just maybe, it’ll be the one that he can use when it really counts.

He doesn’t know when that’ll be though, or how, so he swallows back the resentment and gives him an awkward and patronizing little salute before he heads for the stairs to get ready for the… date.

Things are never going to get any easier, are they?


End file.
